Paths of Rightousness: Still Waters
by MotherCHOWGoddess
Summary: Sequel to "Weight of a Feather" and "Midnight of the Soul" - Ryou Bakura deals with the aftermath of his 'run-in' with Kaiba at Domino Park. AU dubAnime, post Battle City. Some swearing, mention of abuse and violence. Chapter 2: Echoes of the Past!
1. Chapter 1

**Paths of Righteousness: Still Waters**

**Rating:** OT for swearing, mention of violence and abuse.

**Summary:** Sequel to 'Weight of a Feather: Breaking Strain' and 'Midnight of the Soul'. Ryou deals with the aftermath of his 'run-in' with Kaiba at Domino Park. First Person POV. Set in an Alternate Universe after Battle City using mostly dub anime characterizations. Also, the DOMA and the KC Grand Prix arcs of the anime series have not occurred yet (if ever).

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _**Yu-Gi-Oh!**_ Or any of the characters thereof. They belong to Kazuki Takahashi/ Shueisha Inc., FUNImation Productions, 4Kids, etc. This piece of fiction was written solely for the enjoyment of myself and fellow _**Yu-Gi-Oh!**_ fans, and no profit is being made by its writing or publication.

**Quick AN**: Ryou Bakura is presented in these stories as having a dual heritage: Japanese and British, and having spent a good part of his childhood in places other than Japan. If you have a problem with this characterization, please feel free to hit the back key. Thank you.

Chapter One

'Discipline the body, and the mind will follow.' One of my British great uncles used to say that, although I suspect he was referring more to the use of corporal punishment as an educational incentive than my current martial arts regimen. Still, I can't deny that the old fire-breather had a point; kata are as much a meditation tool as they are an exercise.

Wish I didn't have so much to meditate about.

Friday was painful. Physically it wasn't so bad; I ached worse following my first week of aikido, and I wasn't lying to Honda about the bruises from Kendo club. I've always bruised easily; spectacularly, you might even say – blame it on the Anglo genes, if you will, although they'd be quick to point the finger at Dad for mucking up their British blue-blood…. Hah! But that's beside the point. I sometimes wonder about the collective intelligence of the Domino High teaching staff. After the Department of Social Services investigated the first few times and concluded that I was not, by definition, an abused child (apparently that requires the presence of some individual actually living on the premises capable of doing the abusing -- the operative word is 'living'), I've acquired such a reputation as a 'klutz' that many of the teachers almost expect me to show up in a semi-battered condition. I suppose that since the damage occurs off school grounds and after hours most of them aren't that concerned, although I did receive a sigh and head-shake from the school nurse. Which is fine by me, I'm getting enough questions from my friends that I can't answer.

On the other hand, it's…. nice, realizing that even after everything the Other did and even though I've tried to keep them at a distance – as much for their sakes as for mine – they really do care and are worried. I honestly didn't think Yuugi's eyes could get any larger than they already are – until he saw me in the hall yesterday morning.

"Gosh, Bakura-kun! Are you all right? What happened?"

"Yuugi-kun… hello. Yes, I'm quite all right. A little stiff and sore, but…." Fortunately, I was saved from additional explanations by the class bell, and by the time lunchtime rolled around and Yuugi-tachi was gathered together again, most of the others had heard Honda's erroneous but extremely plausible interpretation of my Thursday afternoon experience at the Domino Park bus stop. It was a little frightening, how easy it was to keep quiet and let them jump to their conclusions about rival school gangs and my being at the wrong place at the wrong time. Very easy to simply shake my head, 'no, I hadn't recognized any of them'. So easy to lie without saying a word, even when I caught a glimpse of Yami no Yuugi's concern in Yuugi's eyes or when I noticed Honda's thoughtful expression while Jounouchi ranted about 'not letting those no-good punks get away with beating up on our buds'. I don't like lying to my friends, even by my silence, but how….. how can I possibly tell them the truth?

I can't. I just can't. That was what made yesterday so painful. I think the only thing that made it bearable was Kaiba's continued absence from school. I couldn't have lasted a single period if I'd had to face him. As it was, I still had nightmares last night.

Today is better. Only a half-day of school, and Honda offers (more like insists on giving!) me a ride to the dojo afterwards. He sticks around long enough to verify that, yes, I am studying aikido with Master Himura and that I expect to be here at the dojo for at least an hour and after that I'll be over at Central for Kendo Club. At which point I 'cluck' at him (mother hen!) and Honda grins.

"Just make sure you're home in time for supper," he quips, then his expression turns serious. "I mean it, Ryou. Call me if you need a ride. Anytime."

"I…" The words stick in my throat. Part of me wants so badly to just grab a hold of this solid dependable caring friend, drag him into the next room and tell him everything: the night terrors, the panic I feel every time I hear or see a motorcycle – even his! – and about the silver-white feather I found near the chimnea Thursday night that now sits stuck in an incense holder on my kitchen table along with a battered 'Change of Heart' card that gives me the chills whenever I look at it. About Kaiba. Because it's all very well and good to vow vengeance in the dead of night, but another thing entirely to wake up the next morning aching and nauseous and terrified that once again your friends may suffer for something you don't remember doing.

Gods, maybe I should have just let Kaiba …..

I should have run. Why didn't I run? Even if he'd caught me, at least it would have been over and done with. I wouldn't be flinching every time someone tall with brown hair walks past me or enters the room; I wouldn't be hearing Kaiba's words echoing in my mind:

'_We're not finished, Bakura_.'

But I will be damned and rotting in Hell before I let the others get involved in this! Kaiba is dangerous; I've heard the rumors about his stepfather's death, I know about what he did to Yuugi's grandfather and his Blue-Eyes card. Honda himself told me about Death-T, that twisted version of KaibaLand that nearly killed them all. God knows I've listened enough to Jounouchi's ranting about how he, Mai and I all could have died because Kaiba refused to postpone the tournament finals and get us medical treatment during Battle City (although if what Yuugi says is correct, it wouldn't have helped any of us at the time – modern medicine is no match for Shadow magic). Kaiba has the money and the influence to make or break anyone he considers a nuisance, and to be quite honest, it scares me to think that either I or the Other somehow managed to piss him off so seriously.

It's not as if we were ever friends; barely even acquaintances. But I never thought he hated me.

Honda pats me on the shoulder and gives me a gentle shove towards the changing room. "See you at the arcade in a couple, then. Right?" His tone and the expression tell me that he expects an affirmative answer and won't accept anything else. I manage a slight smile.

"Hai, arigato."

I change into my gi as quickly as my aching muscles will allow and take my place on the edge of the floor. Sempai passes out the towels and the class as a whole wipes the floor clean, ensuring the surface is clear of dirt and debris that might interfere with our lessons (bare-footed as we are) and putting us into a proper state of mind -- not exactly subservient, but more respectful and willing to learn. Although with Himura-sensei, 'willing to learn' is a given for his students.

Sempai starts us on our warm-ups, and I let my mind wander a bit. When I decided to take up a martial arts discipline, I did some research. Asked questions. The same name kept coming up: Himura Yukito, with the added caveat, "if he'll take you." The man is highly respected both inside and outside the martial arts community , and according to rumor, not all the money or prestige in the world will change his mind if he chooses to **not** to accept a student. So I was understandably nervous when I presented myself to request instruction.

_Himura-sensei was not what I'd expected from his reputation. Shorter than I am and slight of build, he could easily be mistaken for a woman at a distance. Something we have in common, I thought as he sized me up, not to mention that unusual hair coloration. Oh, and his eyes: violet and wide, like Yuugi's… and like Yuugi's they held a darker gleam that reminded me of Yami no Yuugi's in the moments before calling a Duel._

_"Why do you wish to study aikido with this one?"_

_Master Himura's gaze demanded honesty, and I could feel a flush cross my face as I took a deep breath. "I… I don't want to hurt anyone… but I'm tired of being helpless."_

_His eyes narrowed slightly, and he studied me carefully. I felt my hope start fading as he shook his head. "Helpless… that you are not, Bakura Ryou. Nor are you weak." Then he smiled and held out his hand. "Come. This one will help you discover your true strength, that I will."_

We'd started that same afternoon and after several intensive one-on-one sessions, Himura-sensei had declared I was ready to join one of his regular classes. A beginner's class, of course; never more than ten students at a time, most of them children and women but one or two like me. I suspect it's one of Sensei's ways of evaluating a student's attitude -- someone like Jounouchi or Otogi might feel insulted by being placed with the women and children, whereas I am well aware of my shortcomings and have very little in the way of macho pride to be offended. And to be honest, right now I think I would be more uncomfortable facing off against my own gender than transgressing against any chivalric code that states, 'Thou shalt not strike a woman.'

I feel a presence behind me and I can't help tensing up; even though my mind says I'm safe here, my instincts say danger…it's sensei. I relax again, then wince as several recently abused muscles protest against my action. Himura-sensei frowns slightly, then quietly redirects my movement into a less painful stance which I practice several times until he nods in satisfaction, and moves on to one of the other students. This slight variation to the usual kata seems to help the residual stiffness I've been feeling and by the time sempai calls a halt I'm loosened up enough to be able to look forward to our next exercise.

Or maybe not.

I sometimes wonder if Himura-sensei has his own Other Self or the equivalent of a Sennen Item that lets him see more than most people are comfortable knowing about, because he has this way of -- nudging, I guess you might say. Nothing physical, just a 'presence' that gently teases and untangles, the way you might work a snarl out of your hair. Until you break down and suddenly you're telling him things you'd rather die than reveal to anyone, ever. A couple of weeks ago he got Taki to talk about his pet dog that had been killed by a car, when the boy had been tight-lipped and sullen for the past few sessions…well, apparently Sensei has picked up on my tense reaction and my injuries and drawn some conclusions, because he puts us to practicing blocks and break-aways and he has me partnered with the only other male in the class who is taller than I am, and when Shigure comes at me….

And Shigure-kun is lying flat on the mat with the breath knocked out of him and I'm staring down at him gasping like I've been running in a track meet, and Himura-sensei's quiet voice asks,

"What happens now, Bakura-kun?"

"I try to run….but he grabs my ankle and I fall."

"Then what?"

"I kick free and tumble roll back to my feet."

Vaguely I can hear a soft murmur of voices around us, but the only clear words are Sensei's: "What does Shigure-kun do?"

I shake my head negatively. "Not Shigure… " Shigure looks both relieved and confused at hearing this; he's probably wondering if he dares move. Sensei rephrases the question.

"What does that one do, Bakura-kun?"

I struggle to steady my breathing. "He tries to take my head off with a snap kick. He hits my shoulder instead." At which point I become aware of the fact that I'm rubbing my left shoulder as if it still hurts from Thursday's blow. Well, it does, actually. And I finally raise my head and find myself staring into Himura-sensei's Yami no Yuugi-like eyes. "I could have run, sensei. Why didn't I run?"

"You tried to defend yourself, ne?"

"H-h-h-hai…"

Why do my knees suddenly sting? Maybe it's because they've impacted rather abruptly with the mat just now… _Oh kamisama, my Other was right, I __**am**__ weak! I can't even answer simple questions from my sensei without stuttering and tearing up, he must be so disappointed in me, and if the Other was here he'd be cackling with malicious glee no wonder Kaiba hates me…._

"Bakura-kun? It's all right, you didn't hurt me…."

Shigure's anxious words of reassurance are the last straw, the almost unnoticed 'chink' of a pebble hitting the weak spot in the already shaky wall of emotional control I've been trying to reinforce all day. The tears I denied Thursday afternoon, that I managed to redirect into angry determination that same night, have not only returned but, as Jounouchi might say, have also brought friends. My eyes recognize a blur of red as being part of Sensei's ponytail before they squeeze closed and drip hot despair on the shoulder seam of my teacher's yakuta.

_Weak…. Helpless….. Why did Yami no Yuugi even bother bringing me back from the Shadows? I'm no use to anyone; a burden to my family, a disappointment to my teachers, a danger to my friends…. My Other may have protected me somewhat, but only because it was necessary for his own survival. If he'd been able acquire a different host, I would have been a discarded husk long before Battle City._

There are arms around my shoulders and the weight of a hand moving in slow soothing circles against my back, but I can't take comfort. _Not even my own Darkness thinks I'm worth a passing thought…._

"**More**, Ryou-chan; so much more you are worth," Sensei corrects me quietly, and I gasp in horror. _Oh God, have I been babbling everything for all to hear?_ I pull away frantically, and discover that we are alone in the dojo hall. The other students have vanished.

"S-s-s-sensei…." I've never seen such sadness on another's face as I see in Himura-san's expression; sadness, and something else -- _anger? Please, kamisama, not at me; I can't bear it if Sensei is angry with me! What did I do wrong? Maybe if I apologize --_ I choke back another sob and lower my gaze to the mat, scooting backwards slightly to place some distance between us. Sensei lets me retreat to just within arm's reach then stops my flight with a cupped hand beneath my chin. I freeze, all too sharply reminded of another's hold on me not so long since. _This is Himura-sensei,_ I frantically tell myself. _He's not... he won't…._

Sensei exhales softly. "Bakura-kun," he scolds gently. "Breathe. This one truly has no desire to watch a student hyperventilate into unconsciousness, that I do not."

"Sumimasen, Himura-sama," I manage to gasp. "Please, your hand … it… hurts…."

"Ah! gomen nasai, Bakura-san!" My jaw drops at the sheepish look he gives me as he lets go. "Of course you are still feeling the bruises. My bad!"

I can't help it; I giggle nervously at the sound of my Aikido Master using street slang like an every day high school punk. He chuckles also, then smoothly regains his feet and reaches the offending hand down to assist my rising. I hesitate, and the sadness returns to his expression.

"Hurts of the body may take only days to heal, Ryou-kun; hurts of the spirit must also be tended, or they will fester and turn to poison as surely as any physical wound so neglected. Will you let this one continue to help?"

"What can **you **do, sensei?" Even as the words come out of my mouth, I realize how childish, how petulant they sound. "Can-- can you bring my mother and sister back to life? Soften the hearts of my grandparents so that they give a damn? Reach into the past and stop my father from ever going near that bloody bazaar in Giza and bringing home that gods-cursed Ring? Can you?" I realize my voice is growing louder and that what I'm saying will surely sound like nonsense, but I can't seem to stop. "Sensei, you are a great teacher, I … I am s-s-so unworthy to… to be your student, b-b-but…. No one can … can know…can change….. what hurts….." I pause, suddenly ashamed at how angry I feel. Himura-sensei doesn't deserve my anger. He just wants to help…

I sigh and let the anger drain away. "Gomen-- gomen nasai, Himura-sama; but not even you can return what has been taken from me."

Sensei continues to offer his hand. "That I can not. But perhaps this one can still help, Ryou-kun. Will you let me try?"

We retire from the dojo to the simple yet cozy kitchen area in the back, where sensei puts on a kettle to heat water for tea. Apparently while I was in the midst of my emotional breakdown, Himura-sensei dismissed the rest of the class for the day and instructed Shigure-kun to hang the 'Closed for a Bite' sign up on the door. I mention Aunt Chihiro's fondness for a particularly foul-smelling blend of tea and Himura-san laughs, agreeing that my aunt has unusual tastes. He offers a choice of DragonWell, orange pekoe, or Earl Grey, and asks if I would like honey or cream. I choose orange pekoe, and admit to having learned to like a dash of cream in my tea when we lived in England after Amané was born. Sensei nods and suggests I change back into my street clothes, or at the very least fetch them from the outer hall. I don't mind swapping sweatpants for trousers, but discover that my shoulder still hurts too much when I try to pull on my shirt, so I opt for the more comfortable _gi_…. heavier material, true, but less confining. Upon my returning to the kitchen, Sensei looks up from his task of spooning tealeaves into a ceramic steeping pot.

"If you will forgive this one's presumption, Bakura-kun," he begins, "Hajime-san has been informed that you may be late in attending, if not entirely absent from, kendo-dojo this afternoon." It takes me a moment to realize that he is referring to Obata-sensei, at which point I wilt again. If I miss any more Kendo club it won't matter how good my grades are; I'll be off the team regardless. Himura-san notices my distress, and adds reassuringly, "That one is not pleased, but understands the importance of resolving a difficulty in one's curriculum before the error becomes ingrained and insurmountable. He does suggest that if Bakura-kun wishes to be considered a serious student that he be more diligent in attending to his obligations in the very near future."

I think my jaw just hit the tatami again. Did Himura-sensei just say that he told my Kendo instructor that I'm being coached after class on a troublesome kata? That's what it sounded like, anyway; more mind-boggling, that Obata-sensei apparently accepted the excuse and is willing to keep me on the rolls -- albeit provisionally. "Sensei, what -?"

"Maa, maa," my teacher shrugs. "This one might think Hajime-san to be an ogre from the expression on Bakura-kun's face, but that this one knows better." He waves off my stammered gratitude and directs my attention to the tea cupboard and the utensils within. "If you would be so kind, Bakura-kun --? The set on the third shelf, I think, is feeling neglected lately, that it is."

Some people might consider the idea of dishes having feelings to be ridiculous; a classic example of childish anthropomorphism best suited to American animated cartoons. From personal experience, I know better than to dismiss such notions out of hand -- I certainly wouldn't call the Spirits of the Puzzle and Ring whimsical delusions, although for a while I thought I had gone totally 'round the twist; what with mysterious blackouts, my school mates falling into comas, and finally hearing that Voice in my head. So I'm not about to argue with Sensei; besides, the tea set on the third shelf certainly looks dusty enough to qualify as 'neglected'. Carefully I carry the pieces over to the sink and start to wipe them clean with a damp cloth.

_Oh, how beautiful!_ Beneath the gray furring of dust are revealed delicate curves of blue, gold and black against what looks to be either eggshell white or a very, very pale sea-foam green -- it's hard to tell in this indirect light. Dolphins, sleek and graceful, the blue and gold separated by a stylized line of waves into what I suddenly realize is a simple and elegant yin-yang design. Looking over, Himura-san 'hms' in approval.

"Yes, yes; this one thought so. That is the set to be using today. Do you like to swim, Bakura-kun?"

I almost drop the bowl I'm rinsing. Fortunately for once my reflexes might almost belong to the Other. "Ano…. not really, Sensei. Not lately, anyway."

Sensei frowns quizzically, tilting his head as he studies me like a cat that has just discovered something unexpected in a familiar mouse hole. "Curious," he says finally. "Mou, it will become clear in it's own time. Yet that **is** the right one for you…."

He takes the tetsubin from the brazier and carefully pours the steaming water into the ceramic pot, releasing the rich, comforting aroma of black tea into the room. I breathe deeply and feel one or two kinks in my psyche relax. It would be a huge stretch of the imagination to call this a tea ceremony, as such; obaasama would have ten kinds of genteel fit at the notion of a guest washing the tea bowls, for one thing, and sensei's yukata and hakama don't even come close to the traditional Host kimono. Yet I'm feeling the same sense of calm and tranquility one supposedly experiences at those most formal events as I settle into a seiza style position beside the low table where Sensei sets a tray holding bowls and utensils, including a Western style creamer shaped like, of all things, a goose. Sensei catches my eye and shrugs, with a rueful smile.

"No seagulls, that there were not," he explains.

"Or dolphins?"

"Or dolphins." Sensei carefully strains the dark steaming liquid into a serving container which matches the tea bowls in that the main design is again a graceful yin-yang of dolphin and sea swell, reminding me of sensei's odd question earlier. The truth is I learned to swim in the chill salt off the coast of Cornwall, and until a few years ago I would unashamedly beg whichever supervising adult was handy for the chance to plunge into the ocean waters if we were anywhere near a beach. Uncle Jamie used to tease me about being part seal and called me 'Kotick', from the story by Rudyard Kipling. If I'd been dockside for Yuugi's and Jounouchi's Duel during Battle City and in control of my body instead of nearly comatose in the Emergency Room, I could have easily brought both of them out of the water --- well, maybe. I used to have excellent breath control, but I can't stand the tepid chlorinated stuff that school makes us swim in, so I suppose I'm out of condition.

Himura-san fills a bowl half way with tea and presents it to me with a slight bow. Even though this isn't a formal ceremony, I accept the bowl and spend a few moments once again admiring the design before taking a cautious sip. I may be half gaijin, but I know the proper etiquette thanks to obaasama's version of "Ms. Manners' Cram School for Barbarians". When Dad and I came back to Japan to stay, my grandparents wouldn't even let me out of the house for the first month, until they were satisfied that I wouldn't embarrass them too horribly in public. If there were other guests present, I would then pass the tea to whomever was next in social status, and so forth around the table. Instead, I smile my thanks at Sensei and take another, larger sip before setting the bowl down on the table and returning the favor.

If this were a formal ceremony, instead of teacher and student sharing a companionable cup of tea, we would sit and quietly discuss art and flowers and theatre and such. Any thought of the darker sides of life, any mention of violence and pain and negative emotions would be shunned. As it is… I take a deep steadying breath, and ask:

"Sensei, why were you angry with me earlier? What -- how have I --? Please tell me what I've done wrong."

For a long moment I think he won't answer, that I don't deserve an answer. Then Himura-san sighs.

"This one is not angry with Bakura Ryou. This one is angry with those others whom have caused Bakura-kun to doubt his own worth. This one sees Bakura-kun's strength and has tried to help him see also, but the voices of those others are so loud…How can this one be heard?"

I don't understand. I'm not strong; how can sensei think that I am? I can barely hold my own against dojo-gumi; Shigure was a fluke, and Kaiba…… Tea splashes over my hand; it's trembling and I have to set the bowl down again because my fingers feel like they're either about to go numb and drop it, or spasm and crush the porcelain dish into delicate razor-sharp shards. Himura-sensei's hand is only a little larger than mine as he takes a hold of it and curls my fingers inside his own.

"There is strength of the hand, Bakura-kun, and of the arm. They are the most obvious, the strength most others will see; the strength of metal, stone, or wood. But there is also strength of the heart and of the mind; the strength of water, of air, of fire and spirit. Those others see the oak tree as being strong, yet it is the bamboo reed that bends and survives when tsunami strikes. The stone stands firm, yet water will patiently drip and leave its mark. Metal binds and supports and draws the eye, yet it is fire that shapes it's worth. Unseen strength, Bakura-kun, often has the greater advantage, because it **is **unseen; quiet and unnoticed until needed. Do you understand?"

He pauses and I hesitantly nod affirmatively, even though I'm not certain if I truly do. Sensei seems to realize this, because he smiles and shakes his head. "Bakura-kun," he chides gently. "You are water and air; your greatest strength is spirit and heart. This," he raises my hand and shakes it lightly, then reaches across the table and taps my forehead with my own lax fingers, "and this can be trained, made stronger with patience and work. This…." He brings my hand down to mid-chest, right where the Ring used to rest, above my heart…. "is Bakura-kun's center, the strength that lifts and carries and pushes him beyond the limits of head and hand." Himura-sensei releases me and settles back on his heels.

"Demo… Sensei, if I am water and air, then how…?"

"Mostly water and air," Sensei corrects himself, "just as this one is mostly earth and fire and metal. This one has worked hard to keep the balance, Bakura-kun, since his younger days of raging spirit. Each one holds some of each element and draws strength from the combination; there can not be earth without air or fire without water."

"Yin and yang," I muse quietly, and Himura-sensei radiates satisfaction. Light and dark. The irony is inescapable. Yuugi once told me that for the longest time he thought of Yami no Yuugi as being was exactly what he called him: 'Other Me'; a split personality that was strong and brave when Yuugi himself felt scared and helpless. Of course, now we all know better. The Spirit of the Puzzle is a powerful Pharaoh who sealed his soul inside the Puzzle in order to defeat some great evil five thousand years ago and in doing so, gave up both his Name and memory. From what I've gathered, the main purpose behind Battle City, the God-Cards and the whole situation with the Ishtars had to do with somehow restoring the Pharaoh's memory, or at least suply him with the tools and motivation in order to do so. And somehow, MY Other, the Spirit of the Ring, had his own agenda where the Sennen Items were concerned.

It occurs to me that of all the adults I know (Yuugi's grandfather excepted), Himura Yukito is the most likely to not only understand about ancient Egyptian Spirits, but might also have some ideas about, well, how to handle them! Because even though Yami no Yuugi sealed my Other back into the Ring, he admitted that he didn't know how long it would hold without the use of his Name. For a moment, I consider telling Sensei about the whole unholy convoluted mess: Sennen Items, Spirits, shadows and all, but then I'd have to talk about Kaiba.

Which is right at the top of the list of things I DON'T want to do. So instead, I sip tea.

(tbc)

2nd AN: Ryou's Aikido sensei isn't _Rurouni Kenshin_. Might be a direct desendent, though. Sorry this took so long...


	2. Chapter 2

**Paths of Righteousness: Still Waters**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _**Yu-Gi-Oh!**_ Or any of the characters thereof. They belong to Kazuki Takahashi/ Shueisha Inc., FUNImation Productions, 4Kids, etc. This piece of fiction was written solely for the enjoyment of myself and fellow _**Yu-Gi-Oh!**_ fans, and no profit is being made by its writing or publication.

**Rating and Warning**: OT for violence, discussion of abuse, and character death, mild Christian-bashing opinion expressed by grieving adolescent character

**Chapter Two:**

After a refill of both tea bowls, Sensei casually inquires as to the health of my aunt Chihiro – Isawa-san, as he refers to her quite correctly but with that slight inflection that leads me to suspect that my Aikido master maybe might have a bit of an interest in my father's younger sister. Why do I think that, you might ask? Well, it might be the way my normally unflappable Sensei turned all stammered-tongued the time Aunt Chihiro picked me up from class one night last month and how disappointed he seemed to be upon learning that she would only be in Domino for the weekend; at the next class Himura-san had been quite interested in hearing about our shopping trip to Kyoto and had managed to 'nudge' quite a few extra details regarding my Aunt's favorite haunts and habits from me during the conversation. I wouldn't be surprised if he offers up Lapsang Souchong tea (her favorite) next time she stops by – which, come to think of it, will probably be not this coming week, but the following one. We had to postpone my birthday dinner earlier this month due to a last minute emergency at the agency, but she's promised something extra special to make up for it. I make a mental note to have Aunt Chihiro come by the dojo (I'll have to think up a good excuse) so that Sensei can have to opportunity to fall all over himself trying to talk to her ( Heh. I'm so evil...). I mention this upcoming visit, and Sensei positively beams at the possibility. This leads to a brief discussion of hospitality customs and teas, including the afore mentioned Lapsang and Earl Grey, which leads to England and my having lived there when I was younger, which leads to... .

It's been a long time since I've talked to anyone about Mother and Amané. I used to write long letters to my sister once a week, starting shortly after Dad and I moved back to Japan; I guess it was my way of keeping them both alive, at least in my memory. For a while I'd mail them to Uncle Jamie in Newcastle and he'd take them to the churchyard in Combe Florie, but then he went to Afghanistan and grandmother…well, never mind. Several months after Yuugi-tachi and I became friends, Anzu found one of my letters to Amané and asked me about it. I told her it was left over from the previous year's Oban festival. She apologized, for what I'm still not sure, but that was when I stopped writing them.

Strange thing… that was one habit of mine that the Other never mocked. I'd almost say he approved, except for the custom of burning the letters once a year at Oban -- he called **that** barbaric. 'Remember your dead properly, yadounushi', he'd growl. 'Carve their names into solid rock or burn them into cold metal; leave the papyrus scratching to the scribes and priests….' At which point he'd either fly into a murderous fury, take over and go on a rampage (the warehouse district acquired some interesting graffiti on those occasions), or he'd grumble something about stupid priests and Pharaoh's justice and give me the silent treatment for the next few days.

Sensei listens quietly while I ramble on, about England and Uncle Jamie, and mother showing me how to make hollyhock dolls and float them on a bowl of water to amuse 'Mannie', and trying to teach grandmother's 'gorgees' (corgis) to fetch in the mail like the dogs we saw on the telly, and about the time one of Uncle Jamie's army buddies decided I needed to be 'baptized with a proper name' to protect me from the Lady in Green at Midsummer….

Then I stop and try to think of what would be the Japanese equivalent to the Sidhe and Unseelye Courts so that I can explain it to Himura-san properly; local folklore has an abundance of child-stealing ghosts and such, not to mention the legend of the Dragon King's palace, but nothing seems to quite match. Sensei's eyes sparkle as he informs me that he is quite familiar with Spenser's _The Faerie Queen,_ having misspent a portion of his own youth abroad in Western climes. I blush and stammer an apology for my ethnocentric assumptions, but Himura-san simply smiles and encourages me to finish the anecdote.

"He was very insistent, you see," I explain. "I believe that the sergeant-major had had several pints more than what was really good for him, although at the time I thought he was just very cheerful. But he kept saying that he'd never be able to call himself a good Christian soul if he let 'Herself' steal me away just because I didn't have a proper name, and that Uncle Jamie should be ashamed to have let things get to such a pretty pass."

Which was how I'd found myself having 180 proof whiskey sprinkled over my head by a solemnly inebriated Army man chanting a weird mish-mish of Latin, Greek, and I suspect a bit of Gaelic, in the middle of a 400-year old Devonshire pub and receiving the 'Christian' name of Dylan (ironic, since my new namesake was a Celtic ocean deity!) while my Uncle Jamie tried heroically to keep a straight face behind his friend's back.

'That'll do,' the sergeant-major pronounced finally, 'at least until you can get 'im to the padre and done right, Jamie-lad.'

'Sir, yessir!' Uncle Jamie saluted, and I echoed obediently. He ruffled hair on top of my head a bit, then added, 'Best get along home, now, Ryou-_bach_, before you're missed and there's the devil to pay….'

I stutter to a halt and stare into my bowl of cold tea. Himura-san gently removes the bowl from my hands and sets it down on the table.

"Tell me, Ry-chan."

"That… that day. It was …**that **day," I whisper. "Dad was… in London, he had to go to the museum for a meeting…. Mother and Amané went to the station to meet him… it was… it was…. We…" I take a deep, shuddering breath. _I can do this. It's just a memory_. "We were supposed to go on holiday. To Egypt. Dad was going to be supervising a follow-up dig for the Langford Foundation, and he wanted us to go with him -- at least for a while. Mother and Grandmother had … an argument, because Grandmother thought we should stay in England. Where it was safe and _**civilized.**_"

I almost snarl the word, and sensei hands me a fresh bowl of tea. Warm, but not too hot. I sip cautiously and let the warmth seep into my body, if not my soul. "Would you like to hear something ironic, sensei? Ojiisama said almost the very same thing to Dad when he left for Oxford -- he told me about it. 'Stay here, where it's civilized', and again after I was born; I've seen the letters -- 'Come home, bring your son home. _**Where it's civilized'**_. And then… when we did come back to Japan, me and Dad…."

Hypocrites. All except Aunt Chihiro, who was also _persona non gratis_ in my grandparents' home because she'd dishonored the family by divorcing the nice respectable salary man they'd married her to, and gone off to develop her talents for graphic design and calligraphy into a career with a Kyoto advertising and marketing agency. Never mind that the nice respectable salary man was violent and abusive, with a girlfriend on the side and a gambling habit that drove him to embezzlement and public disgrace. Oh no, it was Aunt Chihiro who had committed a cardinal sin; just like Dad did, when he deserted the family to marry a gaijin and selfishly pursue his own dreams. Except they were willing to forgive **Dad**, the all-important male heir, under certain conditions….

"Dad told Ojiisama to 'sod off'," I tell Himura-san proudly, using the British slang phrase without thinking; then flush with embarrassment. "Ano… that means --"

There's an amused twinkle in sensei's eye. "I know what it means, Ryou-kun. But this one does not understand why Bakura-sensei would so rudely refuse to abandon a flourishing academic career as an internationally esteemed anthropologist in exchange for a highly respected albeit limited position in the prestigious civil service cubicle," he teases and I laugh with him.

"Some things it is better not to know, Himura-sama," I intone solemnly, in my best Yami no Yuugi imitation. Seriously, though, I think Dad didn't mind the idea of settling down so much; he accepted the seat on the Museum Board of Directors after all. Not that he actually did -- settle down, that is. The real problem was that Ojiisama's plans didn't account for a pale, mildly depressed half-breed grandson with a stubborn streak of his own. Not to mention a possessive homicidal Egyptian spirit in a gaudy hunk of gold jewelry – but that came later.

"You see, the last time Dad's family had actually seen me was when I was around two and a half years old and this --," I grab a handful of silver-white hair and pull it gently away from my scalp in order to properly display the oddity, "was considerably darker in color. Almost a _respectable_"-- another word I'm beginning to seriously dislike, especially in connection with my not-so-loving relatives -- "shade of brown. It was nearly black when I was born," I explain to sensei, who nods and reciprocates by tugging at a lock or two of his own startling roan-red mane. We exchange rueful grimaces of understanding, and I offer to refill his tea.

Sensei declines, and we sit quietly for a little while. I remember asking Mother once, when I was about seven years old, if my hair was going to turn white and fall out like Grand-dad's did. She hugged me and told me it probably wouldn't fall out, but it might turn white because hers had and she thought I was more like her than like Dad. I remember being horrified -- I didn't want to be like a girl! So I got a hold of some black shoe polish and gunked it all over my hair. Amané tried to help, but I told her to leave me alone because she was a **girl **and I was afraid it would rub off on me. She started crying and threw a tantrum. Uncle Jamie came in and laughed until tears ran down his face. Grandmother threw a conniption. -- _what would the neighbors think_? etcetera, etcetera. Grand-dad looked confused and asked, 'what's all this then?' I told him that I didn't want to be a girl.

'Then don't be', Grand-dad said, and picked me up and carried me all the way down High Street to the barber's shop, where he told Davy the Scissors to trim out the shoe polish. It wasn't quite a crew cut, but it was close, and I cried because even then I liked my hair long. 'Hush now, Ryou-_bach,_ it will grow again,' my grandfather scolded gently. 'It might be white like your mother's, or dark like your tad's, or mayhap even green for all the Good Lord knows; but whatever color your hair or your eyes or your skin, you will still be you.'

"I miss Grand-dad." I'm crying again, quiet tears dripping down my cheeks. "I - I'd almost forgotten that, he passed away soon after. Grandmother sold the cottage, and we lived in a hotel in Oxford while Dad came back to Japan and tried to make peace with Ojiisama; I was too young at the time to realize it, but Grandmother **really** didn't like Dad. She wanted Mother to leave him, or send him packing, or whatever. Because he was foreign; not 'their' kind. Not… Anglo. Grand-dad didn't care about that; he liked Dad. Dad had taught me Nihongo and was teaching me Egyptian-Arabic, and Grand-dad wanted to learn too. We-- we'd practice together and Grandmother would get all stiff and tell me to stop that heathen chatter, and scold Grand-dad for encouraging such wickedness. After Grand-dad died, Grandmother said that it was her house now and she'd decide who was welcome under her roof from now on. Dad -- wasn't welcome. Neither was Uncle Jamie, I never understood why. I think… I think Grandmother tolerated me while Mother was alive because I didn't **look** foreign, at least not very much; it was easy enough for her to pretend I was a full-blooded Anglo as long as no one used my family name."

That was part of why she and Mother argued that day, because Grandmother wanted her and Amané to stay in England so that Amané could get a 'proper' education instead of growing up being dragged through the filthy gutters of Calcutta -- that's a direct quote, by the way. Mother retorted, 'oh, the kind of education that doesn't know the difference between North Africa and the Asian subcontinent?' and Grandmother ordered her not to take that tone with her, it's too late for the boy, he's already part savage but have some consideration for your daughter…

Mother got real quiet and cold and said, 'If Ryou is part savage then so is Amané; he is just as much my child and your grandchild as she is, mother, and I will not let you drive a wedge between them with your prejudices and upper class snobbery. Nor will I let you dictate my children's choice of language, culture or beliefs.'

"I was hiding in the boot closet because I'd been out with Uncle Jamie and the sergeant-major at the pub and I knew Grandmother would be angry, because she'd forbidden me to go and I'd just gotten in when I heard Mother and Grandmother arguing. So I hid. I was afraid that if Grandmother found out, I couldn't go to Egypt with Dad and I'd be stuck in Oxford going to that horrid boys' school again. Mother walked away up the stairs and fetched Amané to go to the station; I wanted so badly to go with them, but if I came out then Grandmother would see me and know that I'd been wicked again. I was… I'm such a coward….

"Mother was carrying Amané. I remember Grandmother saying, 'If you go to that man, Gwynneth Alicia Pwyll, don't bother coming back.' Mother just looked at her, with one eyebrow raised. 'Fine, then,' she said, 'I'll send Jameson to fetch Ryou, so you won't be bothered', and she slammed the door. Grandmother turned all red in the face, then white, and then red again. I don't know if she was angrier that Mother had walked out on her, or that she'd have to see Uncle Jamie in order to be shut of me…."

Coward. If I hadn't been so afraid of my Grandmother, I would have been with Mother and Amané at the train station when the 6:38 derailed and smashed through the barrier. If I'd been there maybe they wouldn't have been at that end of the platform. Maybe I could have pulled them both back before….

"How old were you, Ryou-kun?"

"Nine years … almost ten."

Sensei's hand is against my cheek again, but this time I turn slightly and lean into the offered comfort. "Just a child, Ryou-kun. If you had been there, you might have been killed also." I hiccough through the tears.

"Sometimes…." It's barely a whisper, but I know he hears…"Sometimes I wish… I had."

If I try hard enough maybe I can pretend that I'm still nine years old, and the shoulder I'm sobbing against is my dad's. If I keep my eyes closed I won't see the long roan-red hair that's more like Uncle Jamie's, except his was a short army cut. If I don't think about it, I won't hear the shocked protest that surely I don't mean that, such a wicked thing to say at a time like this… the protest doesn't come and somehow I know in my heart it won't be said by this man who isn't my dad, who isn't Uncle Jamie, who isn't mourning his own losses in a welter of grief and guilt.

"It's hard, to be the one who survives. I know, Ryou-kun. I know."

I remember the bobby coming to the door after supper, and listening from the stairs while Grandmother shrieked and wailed; clutching tight to the carpetbag I'd packed in a hurry because I wanted to be ready when Uncle Jamie came. I remember my dad walking through the open door and Grandmother screeching for the bobby to arrest that man, that foreign tramp, for trespassing or burglary or kidnapping or…. And me screaming 'no!' and falling down the stairs trying to stop the bobby from taking Dad to prison because he couldn't take me and Mother and Amané to Egypt if he was in prison, and Uncle Jamie bellowing 'shut that noise, you stupid cow, you're scaring the boy!' Grandmother cried out, 'Oh my heart!' and someone called an ambulance while the bobby took Dad into the library. I went into hysterics, thinking that Dad was under arrest, and Uncle Jamie picked me up off the floor and held me tight, whispering soft Gaelic nonsense as tears ran down his face until I went limp and quiet with exhaustion.

It rained the morning of the funeral. Several of the Great Uncles made the arrangements under Grandmother's direction. A Christian ceremony, Anglican of course, with two closed caskets lowered solemnly into the Jarvis family plot in the Combe Florie churchyard. Dad and I both wore black suits; Uncle Jamie wore his U.N.I.T. dress uniform, and the three of huddled together under a huge umbrella, surrounded mostly by Jarvis cousins but I think there must have been one or three other Pwylls because I remember several people with a look of Grand-dad coming over and talking to Dad and Uncle Jamie in hushed voices. The Reverend Doctor whose name I never did know finished a long prayer, closed his Bible, then glanced at Grandmother who was out of the hospital but in a wheelchair. One of the Uncles handed her a spray of lilies and wheeled her to the edge of the grave. Uncle Jamie growled something that sounded rude under his breath, then said loudly and clearly, 'Leticia, it's not your place to be doing that.'

There was a cold sharp silence as the assembled family simply stared at us: me, Dad and Uncle Jamie. Uncle Jamie nudged me forward towards the gaping mass, but he was right behind me, warm and solid and righteous, and Dad on my other side. The Reverend Doctor was the only person there (other than the Pwyll cousins) who didn't look willing to dig at least three more holes in the ground, and the only one to have the courtesy to look confused and embarrassed.

'Er, Corporal?'

'The son and the husband, sir, have their rights to be recognized and to mourn. Even,' he added harshly with a bitter glare at Grandmother, 'if they aren't proper Christians and foreign born.'

'Have you no shame?' Grandmother hissed. 'You--!'

'Why should I have, seeing how you are so willing to carry the burden for all of us?' Uncle Jamie retorted. 'Gwyn was the sister of my heart as much as by blood, though I'd willingly shed every drop in my body if it could bring her and 'Mannie back to life, Reverend, but not for myself or for this selfish shrivel-souled hag. For the boy, and this man I'm proud to call a brother as well…'

I think he would have said more, but Dad interrupted softly. 'Jamie-kun… Let it go.' He stepped forward and bowed very slightly to the woman in the wheelchair. 'Mother of my wife, I ask only for permission to… to say farewell to my wife and my daughter.' Not waiting for her answer, Dad turned and held out his hand to me, drawing me to his side. We stood together, still in the rain; Dad murmuring quiet prayers to the ancient gods of the Orient and MidEast while I stared at the flower draped casket lids and tried to remember the Christian words I'd learned mostly to please the horrible Woman my aching heart blamed for this nightmare.

'Okaasan….little sister… Mary Mother of God… yea, though they walk through the valley of shadows… guardian of the gates, bright winged Horus, in your mercy… thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me… honored ancestors, gentle Bodhisvatta, guide their steps on the Path towards rebirth…. Forgive us our trespasses…. '

_Never. I will never forgive you, Grandmother. You have trespassed against my heart…._

I'm shaking again, as my long-suppressed anger against that woman swells. She said the words, those hateful angry words that drove my mother and sister from her house --

'If you go… don't bother coming back.'

_And they never did. _

_They. Never. Came. Back._

_Never. _

"Never… never forgive…" Hot and strangely familiar, anger rises dark and strong, the color of blood-tainted gold…. My mother, my sister… my family! Dead, murdered, slaughtered by Pharaoh's command….there will be justice, I swear by the gods…. In this life or the next….

"Ryou-chan!" Sharper than the voice that slices through the fog of grief and fury is the sting of a hand across my cheek, and without thinking I reach for the darkness to strike back. Sensei is faster, snaring my wrists and twisting my arms behind my back..._naumaku sarabatata gyateibyaku... _There's a roaring in my ears, flames devouring wood and thatch, voices screaming, cursing..._jamagedou mouryoukishin dokujuudokuryuu, dokuchuushirui..._.I can feel the muscles burning, strained almost to the tearing point... _monshakujoushou, saibukudokugai hotsubodaishin, gushumangyou, sokushoubodai..._ Part of me is aghast at what appears to be happening, while another part is snarling, enraged…. "_Makai Tenjyo_!"

And the breath whooshes out of me as the red-tinged fury bleaches back to gold and the darkness explodes into bright sparks, swirling and condensing into a tiny barely noticeable knot, leaving behind the oddest sensation; as if I'd been briskly lashed body and soul with a bundle of parchment streamers.

"S-s-s-sensei…." I have control of my voice again; I feel my limbs shudder as the inhuman strength fades away. "Onegai…. gomen…. gomen nasai…."

"Be still, Ryou-kun." Himura-sensei's voice is soft yet stern. "Center yourself again. Breathe." I feel him release my arms, and he places the heel of one hand firmly against the middle of my forehead. "Center yourself," he repeats, "and breathe."

"Sen--"

"Hush."

Sensei breathes with me: _inhale, hold, exhale, pause. Inhale, hold, exhale, pause. Inhale, hold, exhale, pause…_

But my mind is racing around in frantic terrified circles even as my body starts to calm, because I know what almost happened just now; my memories, my grief and anger... somehow they resonated along just the wrong frequency...

"Bakura-kun." Himura-sensei's voice is stern and I look up into narrowed crimson eyes.

"What it is that possesses you?"

...Yami no Yuugi's seal on the Ring of Wisdom is starting to crack.

(tbc)

* * *

**Author's Note**: Okay, last chapter I said emphatically that Himura-sensei was NOT 'Ruroni Kenshin', even though his description and characteristics suggest it. Actually, with this chapter it seems that he is something of a cross between Kenshin and Kuumiya Sanzo from 'Saiyuki. ' Credit goes to the TokyoPop translators of "**Tactics**", particularly Volume 4, for the Buddhist prayer Himura-Sensei uses to temporarily banish the echo of the Ring Spirit.

Also, just to let you know: I have very fond memories of MY grandmother teaching my sister and I how to make hollyhock dolls -- and that is the sole extant of any resemblance between Grandma A. and Ryou's British grandmother. "Pwyll" is pronounced either as "Poole" or "Powell", I'm not sure which.


End file.
